Happy 2017! I realize it's February, but it's commonplace here to wish someone the "compliments of the new year" the first time you see them again, regardless of how far along it is.
The end of 2016 brought great adventures and my customary mishaps, as well as disbelief that my PiAf fellowship is already more than half over. The past seven months have been exciting, challenging, stressful, and full of laughter and events people euphemistically refer to as "teaching moments." I look forward to wringing out even more of what my post has to offer in the next five months.
Unable to be home for Christmas and unwilling to waste the two-week office closure in Pretoria, I booked a ticket on the Baz Bus and set off on my first semi-backpacking trip. Both nervous and excited, I was looking forward to my first chance to travel solo and spend the next two weeks doing something new, and possibly uncomfortable, every day. I knew only three things about my backpacker destination in Coffee Bay: (1) it was on the Indian Ocean, (2) they offered surf lessons for beginners, and (3) I could travel and stay there for next to nothing, financially. I figured everything else would work itself out.
After a beautiful overnight stop in Port Elizabeth, the Baz Bus pulled up to a Shell Garage in Mthatha, the tiny and bustling "main town." Groggy from the 7 hour bus ride without AC in the peak of South Africa's summer, my fellow passengers and I peeled ourselves off of the bus seats and piled into the next shuttle. After another 2 hours on winding roads, dodging brave goats and clueless cows, we finally rounded the final corner to Coffee Bay and pulled in to the backpacker's tiny driveway. After endless warnings against spending the December holidays along the tourist-ridden coastline, I was blown away at how rural and isolated Coffee Bay is. Other than those of us staying at the backpackers, the small town was void of tourists. This seeming isolation elevated the beauty inexpressibly.
Coffee Shack Backpackers is easily my favorite hostel I've stayed at; I couldn't recommend it more highly for other travelers hoping to check out the Wild Coast. The staff were attentive and kind, and truly good at their jobs. The entire backpackers is set up to create community and help travelers experience Coffee Bay. They served communal meals in a common area outdoors filled with a fire pit, hammocks, picnic tables, billiards, and a small bar. Young girls with a passion for dance and song frequently performed for us in the evenings for small earnings. Coffee Shack's best services, though, were the activities they scheduled for travelers. Every day saw a new sign-up sheet hanging on the community board boasting another outdoor activity, complete with transport, meal, and a guide.
In coastal surroundings and with new friends, I spent the week alternating between lazy mornings and activities to push me out of my comfort zone. Some highlights:
Surfing: My main draw to Coffee Bay was the advertisement I'd seen for their surfing lessons. (Friends may note my tendency to embrace any chance for personal humiliation continues to guide my decisions.) A surfing instructor led five of us to an empty beach early in the morning, perfect, in theory, for "catching waves." The morning was riddled with countless (graceful?) falls and laughter as waves crashed around us and easily loosened the novice grips on our boards. I quickly became accustomed to toppling over and took it as a matter of course. Much to my surprise, the number of waves I was able to ride to the beach narrowly outnumbered the number of falls in between them by the end of the first lesson.
By the next lesson, my comfort level had increased and I was excited to improve my consistency. Soon enough, I was catching nearly every wave I tried and reliably surfing to the beach. The instructor started teaching me to add direction to my surf, and I was able to make admittedly clumsy turns and directional changes by the end of the lesson. Not expecting to even stand correctly on the board, I was excited and surprised by my quick grasp of the basics. I chose to take the instructor's surprise as a compliment as well, rather than an insinuation against any athletic acumen I hope to project... Perhaps the unexpected skill was a mix of athleticism from sports history and balance from years as an ice skater. Either way, I'm desperate to make another surfing trip before I leave.
My failure to spot a shark was my only disappointment. Don't get me wrong - my eyes have never bulged out of my head more than when I was in the ocean myself, scanning for sharks at risk of mistaking my untanned, reflective skin for that of a seal... Still, I was holding the (totally reasonable) hope that I would see a giant fin dominating the ocean just as I walked safely onto the beach. I want stories, not (more) scars.
Maphuzi Cliffs: On Christmas Eve, we hiked the steep Maphuzi Cliffs. We faced the strongest winds I've ever experienced, second only to the wind tunnel in which I went indoor skydiving in Colorado. I imagine my face looked much the same in this experience, though mercifully, with less spit flying. The wind was very literally pushing us around on the cliff, complicating the efforts to avoid the steep, unforgiving drop into the ocean waves crashing furiously against the cliffs and caves below. The wind was so severe, in fact, we had to cut our hike shorter than normal for safety. The hike itself was great fun and a beautiful view at every turn. We were supposed to hike inside one of the biggest caves along the coast line, but the poor weather made that impossible - the tide was becoming too high and the crazy winds made the ocean particularly aggressive. As no one felt like spending the night on the cave floor at Poseidon's mercy, we took it on good faith that the inside of one humid rock opening looks quite similar to another, and turned back. We finished the hike by cliff jumping into the Maphuzi river.
Hole in the Wall: On another eventful morning, I went swimming at the Hole in the Wall with a group of new friends. The Hole in the Wall is a rocky archway jutting out of the ocean with a - you guessed it - hole in the center, created after years of waves beating against it relentlessly. As it turns out, any current strong enough to create these waves and that hole is more than a match for a swimmer who doesn't boast any skill past the doggy paddle. Embracing my own humility and a disinclination to make any headlines on this trip, I stayed well away from the opening in the rock itself. Others in the group were more adventurous, actually venturing (successfully, thank God) to swim through the hole and back, against the current.
As a group, we recieved more injurings during this trip than we had from any of our other adventures. We spent the afternoon collectively bleeding on the beach as we dried off, each cut deeper and more drammatic than the next.
Christmas Eve Dinner: The backpackers hosted a huge dinner for all the travelers on Christmas Eve. I could try to relay all sorts of heart warming lessons I learned about how other cultures celebrate Christmas or the wonderful traditions that people practice in different countries. The most poignant thing I learned, though, is that seemingly every country except the States celebrate Christmas Eve at the bar with friends. Any meekness on Christmas day, apparently, is from an annual hangover. I have no difficulty imagining some of my fellow Americans adopting this tradition at home.
Off Days: These days were broken up by calm, quiet activities that I desperately needed. Spending lazy afternoons swinging from a hammock reading Wild, participating in a hilariously impromptu yoga class o the beach led by another hostel-mate, hours spent perched alone on top of small cliffs watching the tide pull in and out, learning international card games in different languages and many, many rules, and listening with rapt attention to the stories of other travelers.
Unsure how I would like it, I actually loved traveling alone. Constantly concerned with what is happening around me, what others will think, and the million things I should be doing, it was wonderful to just be. Being totally unconcerned with what anyone else is doing is a true holiday. You just have to not want to be where everybody else is. Once you want that, you start to find yourself.
Perhaps the best part of the trip was all of the people I met from around the world. From the two Australians I hiked - and jumped off of - the Maphuzi cliffs with, the Norwegians I swam the Hole in the Wall with, the Brit who cycled the entire continent from Egypt to Cape Town for an endless supply of hilarious anecdotes, the Belgian who bought a bike to join the Brit halfway through Namibia on a whim midway through his own continental adventures, the German siblings literally traveling the world together, the American couple each traveling separately for a year on their own scholarships, the American from Indiana who quit his job to see the world, the Swiss man who hitchhikes on international ships and gives the impression of stumbling everywhere he goes by accident, to the Dutch girl also living in Pretoria, I learned from and laughed with each of them. All were brought here by different reasons and for different lengths of time, but with the commonality of searching for experience and aching to know more of the world and people that surround us.
Hearing their stories of travel, risk, and adventure made me feel quite commonplace and poorly traveled. Eventually, though, I realized I'm simply at the early end of my story-making and, God willing, have years ahead to gain my own humbling experiences and ludicrous misadventures.
Meeting people like this from around the world - people who not only embrace cultures and people different from their own, but seek them out with an eagerness to understand and participate in them - give me hope in the face of the turmoil and inhumane politics unfolding at home. I've been struggling with my inability to participate in protests, feeling muted and unable to adequately express my earnest and wholehearted disgust, especially at turning away those that need protection most. But I know people like those I've met - curious to learn from others and embrace a common humanity - exist within the US, too, and I'm heartened by their loud voices and the people I know will be occupying positions of policy and influence in the coming years. I will do all I can to support them from 8,276 miles away.
Actually meeting and befriending people from different countries adds a much needed level of humanity to any conversation of foreign affairs. Once you've shared laughter, meals, and potential surfing humiliation with someone, you can't help but see their face when you speak of their country. The effect an action or policy will have on them and their neighbors becomes human and real. You can't discuss turning refugee families away without picturing the Rwandan refugee girl you tutored in English, if only briefly, or hear about strained ties with the Netherlands without seeing the face of the Dutch girls you spoke about family and future plans with. Maybe we should all strive to see more of our world and its people, and we'd remember there is no "other." There is only "us."
Alright, sorry, I've just kicked the soap box away.
I rang in the New Year back in Johannesburg and traveled to Stellenbosch (near Cape Town) for my coworker's gorgeous, two-day Hindu wedding. The weekend was complete with mountain views, wine tasting, and energetic dancing with coworkers you hope you don't have to be embarrassed around when you bust you the "running man."
In addition to the nonstop work schedule, the next five months are filling up fast. I'm spending a long weekend in Botswana to visit the PiAf fellows there and get the feel for another southern Africa capital city, we have the retreat in Tanzania in March, and I'm making plans for a trip to Swaziland over Easter weekend.
My continued apologies for full novels where a mere chapter would suffice. As always, keep the letters, e-mails, and smoke signals coming!
The end of 2016 brought great adventures and my customary mishaps, as well as disbelief that my PiAf fellowship is already more than half over. The past seven months have been exciting, challenging, stressful, and full of laughter and events people euphemistically refer to as "teaching moments." I look forward to wringing out even more of what my post has to offer in the next five months.
Unable to be home for Christmas and unwilling to waste the two-week office closure in Pretoria, I booked a ticket on the Baz Bus and set off on my first semi-backpacking trip. Both nervous and excited, I was looking forward to my first chance to travel solo and spend the next two weeks doing something new, and possibly uncomfortable, every day. I knew only three things about my backpacker destination in Coffee Bay: (1) it was on the Indian Ocean, (2) they offered surf lessons for beginners, and (3) I could travel and stay there for next to nothing, financially. I figured everything else would work itself out.
After a beautiful overnight stop in Port Elizabeth, the Baz Bus pulled up to a Shell Garage in Mthatha, the tiny and bustling "main town." Groggy from the 7 hour bus ride without AC in the peak of South Africa's summer, my fellow passengers and I peeled ourselves off of the bus seats and piled into the next shuttle. After another 2 hours on winding roads, dodging brave goats and clueless cows, we finally rounded the final corner to Coffee Bay and pulled in to the backpacker's tiny driveway. After endless warnings against spending the December holidays along the tourist-ridden coastline, I was blown away at how rural and isolated Coffee Bay is. Other than those of us staying at the backpackers, the small town was void of tourists. This seeming isolation elevated the beauty inexpressibly.
Coffee Shack Backpackers is easily my favorite hostel I've stayed at; I couldn't recommend it more highly for other travelers hoping to check out the Wild Coast. The staff were attentive and kind, and truly good at their jobs. The entire backpackers is set up to create community and help travelers experience Coffee Bay. They served communal meals in a common area outdoors filled with a fire pit, hammocks, picnic tables, billiards, and a small bar. Young girls with a passion for dance and song frequently performed for us in the evenings for small earnings. Coffee Shack's best services, though, were the activities they scheduled for travelers. Every day saw a new sign-up sheet hanging on the community board boasting another outdoor activity, complete with transport, meal, and a guide.
In coastal surroundings and with new friends, I spent the week alternating between lazy mornings and activities to push me out of my comfort zone. Some highlights:
Surfing: My main draw to Coffee Bay was the advertisement I'd seen for their surfing lessons. (Friends may note my tendency to embrace any chance for personal humiliation continues to guide my decisions.) A surfing instructor led five of us to an empty beach early in the morning, perfect, in theory, for "catching waves." The morning was riddled with countless (graceful?) falls and laughter as waves crashed around us and easily loosened the novice grips on our boards. I quickly became accustomed to toppling over and took it as a matter of course. Much to my surprise, the number of waves I was able to ride to the beach narrowly outnumbered the number of falls in between them by the end of the first lesson.
By the next lesson, my comfort level had increased and I was excited to improve my consistency. Soon enough, I was catching nearly every wave I tried and reliably surfing to the beach. The instructor started teaching me to add direction to my surf, and I was able to make admittedly clumsy turns and directional changes by the end of the lesson. Not expecting to even stand correctly on the board, I was excited and surprised by my quick grasp of the basics. I chose to take the instructor's surprise as a compliment as well, rather than an insinuation against any athletic acumen I hope to project... Perhaps the unexpected skill was a mix of athleticism from sports history and balance from years as an ice skater. Either way, I'm desperate to make another surfing trip before I leave.
My failure to spot a shark was my only disappointment. Don't get me wrong - my eyes have never bulged out of my head more than when I was in the ocean myself, scanning for sharks at risk of mistaking my untanned, reflective skin for that of a seal... Still, I was holding the (totally reasonable) hope that I would see a giant fin dominating the ocean just as I walked safely onto the beach. I want stories, not (more) scars.
Maphuzi Cliffs: On Christmas Eve, we hiked the steep Maphuzi Cliffs. We faced the strongest winds I've ever experienced, second only to the wind tunnel in which I went indoor skydiving in Colorado. I imagine my face looked much the same in this experience, though mercifully, with less spit flying. The wind was very literally pushing us around on the cliff, complicating the efforts to avoid the steep, unforgiving drop into the ocean waves crashing furiously against the cliffs and caves below. The wind was so severe, in fact, we had to cut our hike shorter than normal for safety. The hike itself was great fun and a beautiful view at every turn. We were supposed to hike inside one of the biggest caves along the coast line, but the poor weather made that impossible - the tide was becoming too high and the crazy winds made the ocean particularly aggressive. As no one felt like spending the night on the cave floor at Poseidon's mercy, we took it on good faith that the inside of one humid rock opening looks quite similar to another, and turned back. We finished the hike by cliff jumping into the Maphuzi river.
Hole in the Wall: On another eventful morning, I went swimming at the Hole in the Wall with a group of new friends. The Hole in the Wall is a rocky archway jutting out of the ocean with a - you guessed it - hole in the center, created after years of waves beating against it relentlessly. As it turns out, any current strong enough to create these waves and that hole is more than a match for a swimmer who doesn't boast any skill past the doggy paddle. Embracing my own humility and a disinclination to make any headlines on this trip, I stayed well away from the opening in the rock itself. Others in the group were more adventurous, actually venturing (successfully, thank God) to swim through the hole and back, against the current.
As a group, we recieved more injurings during this trip than we had from any of our other adventures. We spent the afternoon collectively bleeding on the beach as we dried off, each cut deeper and more drammatic than the next.
Christmas Eve Dinner: The backpackers hosted a huge dinner for all the travelers on Christmas Eve. I could try to relay all sorts of heart warming lessons I learned about how other cultures celebrate Christmas or the wonderful traditions that people practice in different countries. The most poignant thing I learned, though, is that seemingly every country except the States celebrate Christmas Eve at the bar with friends. Any meekness on Christmas day, apparently, is from an annual hangover. I have no difficulty imagining some of my fellow Americans adopting this tradition at home.
Off Days: These days were broken up by calm, quiet activities that I desperately needed. Spending lazy afternoons swinging from a hammock reading Wild, participating in a hilariously impromptu yoga class o the beach led by another hostel-mate, hours spent perched alone on top of small cliffs watching the tide pull in and out, learning international card games in different languages and many, many rules, and listening with rapt attention to the stories of other travelers.
Unsure how I would like it, I actually loved traveling alone. Constantly concerned with what is happening around me, what others will think, and the million things I should be doing, it was wonderful to just be. Being totally unconcerned with what anyone else is doing is a true holiday. You just have to not want to be where everybody else is. Once you want that, you start to find yourself.
Perhaps the best part of the trip was all of the people I met from around the world. From the two Australians I hiked - and jumped off of - the Maphuzi cliffs with, the Norwegians I swam the Hole in the Wall with, the Brit who cycled the entire continent from Egypt to Cape Town for an endless supply of hilarious anecdotes, the Belgian who bought a bike to join the Brit halfway through Namibia on a whim midway through his own continental adventures, the German siblings literally traveling the world together, the American couple each traveling separately for a year on their own scholarships, the American from Indiana who quit his job to see the world, the Swiss man who hitchhikes on international ships and gives the impression of stumbling everywhere he goes by accident, to the Dutch girl also living in Pretoria, I learned from and laughed with each of them. All were brought here by different reasons and for different lengths of time, but with the commonality of searching for experience and aching to know more of the world and people that surround us.
Hearing their stories of travel, risk, and adventure made me feel quite commonplace and poorly traveled. Eventually, though, I realized I'm simply at the early end of my story-making and, God willing, have years ahead to gain my own humbling experiences and ludicrous misadventures.
Meeting people like this from around the world - people who not only embrace cultures and people different from their own, but seek them out with an eagerness to understand and participate in them - give me hope in the face of the turmoil and inhumane politics unfolding at home. I've been struggling with my inability to participate in protests, feeling muted and unable to adequately express my earnest and wholehearted disgust, especially at turning away those that need protection most. But I know people like those I've met - curious to learn from others and embrace a common humanity - exist within the US, too, and I'm heartened by their loud voices and the people I know will be occupying positions of policy and influence in the coming years. I will do all I can to support them from 8,276 miles away.
Actually meeting and befriending people from different countries adds a much needed level of humanity to any conversation of foreign affairs. Once you've shared laughter, meals, and potential surfing humiliation with someone, you can't help but see their face when you speak of their country. The effect an action or policy will have on them and their neighbors becomes human and real. You can't discuss turning refugee families away without picturing the Rwandan refugee girl you tutored in English, if only briefly, or hear about strained ties with the Netherlands without seeing the face of the Dutch girls you spoke about family and future plans with. Maybe we should all strive to see more of our world and its people, and we'd remember there is no "other." There is only "us."
Alright, sorry, I've just kicked the soap box away.
I rang in the New Year back in Johannesburg and traveled to Stellenbosch (near Cape Town) for my coworker's gorgeous, two-day Hindu wedding. The weekend was complete with mountain views, wine tasting, and energetic dancing with coworkers you hope you don't have to be embarrassed around when you bust you the "running man."
In addition to the nonstop work schedule, the next five months are filling up fast. I'm spending a long weekend in Botswana to visit the PiAf fellows there and get the feel for another southern Africa capital city, we have the retreat in Tanzania in March, and I'm making plans for a trip to Swaziland over Easter weekend.
My continued apologies for full novels where a mere chapter would suffice. As always, keep the letters, e-mails, and smoke signals coming!